


Flesh and Flame

by lyriumlovesong



Series: The Rabbit and The Lion [16]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Consent, Cullen is a fucking gentleman, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, Dalish Rituals, Dalish Sexuality, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freya engages in a rare act of self-indulgence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh and Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Another very short one-shot. I'm working on the Orlesian visit arc, which will be a longer fic, but little vignettes keep popping out of my keyboard instead. #sorrynotsorry

It had been months since she had danced.

Back home in the Free Marches, Freya had devoted hours each day to practice, in between her time spent learning the healing arts with her _mamae_.

She would retreat into a quiet glade in the woods near their camp, stretch her arms to the heavens, and begin to move. Sometimes she would practice the clan’s traditional dances. More often, she would just let herself be taken away in the song of the birds or the wind through the trees, allowing her body to channel and flow with the energies surrounding it.

The atmosphere in her chambers was too cold for that. Hard stone walls and plush carpets did little to inspire her.

But the room was empty and her body yearned to move.

There was a ritual dance she knew, the _Niral’isala_ _,_  a display of flesh and flame performed at the spring equinox celebration. It was primarily a celebration of fertility and new life, and it leapt to the forefront of her mind.

The _Niral’isala_ was supposed to be performed at night with a pair of batons ignited at each end, symbolizing the heat between two lovers. The warmth of the whirling fire in such close proximity combined with the physical effort of the movements made the dancers sweat heavily, heightening the sensual nature of the dance. A pair of these batons had been among the clan’s belongings, and she’d kept them, out of nostalgia more than anything. She couldn’t light them here, of course. But they would do.

Her usual garb didn’t allow for much movement, so she stripped it off, leaving just her smalls and breast band. It was only slightly less than they wore for this dance, anyway, she thought to herself, remembering the draped garments that covered breasts and groin and little else. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t a dance taught to anyone who hadn’t already been wearing their vallaslin for a couple of years, and it was always performed after the children had been put to bed for the night.

Taking the batons in her hands, she gave them a few experimental twirls. Not that much different from a dagger, really. This, she knew, was why she had taken so naturally to the blades. Dance and battle, from a technical standpoint, weren’t so very different when you thought about it.

She walked to the center of the room, wondering if she would still remember all the steps. With the batons behind her back, she took a deep breath, then raised them over her head, twirling them slowly. Muscle memory took over, all those hours of practice having imprinted the motions into her very being, and she began to dance.

It was glorious, being able to move again, turning and arching and swaying like this. Her limbs stretched and curved, deft fingers spinning, tossing and catching the batons with effortless precision. It felt freeing to move in a way that was designed to please, instead of to kill.

She didn’t need the drums that usually accompanied this dance, she found. The rhythm was ingrained in her, the cadence beating in her mind as she moved.

So engrossed was Freya that she didn't hear the quick rap on the door, or the soft creak as it opened a moment later.

Cullen, not hearing an answer to his knock, had assumed the room empty and come up to retrieve a report he'd left on the desk. When he had climbed the steps enough to see into the room, the sight before him took his breath away.

He had never seen Freya dance. At least, not like _this._

She was utterly lost in it, eyes closed and sweat trailing over her body in little rivulets down her chest and back and belly as she moved, undulating to an inaudible beat in her mind. The batons in her hands whirled in arcs above her head, then down around her body, spinning and flowing around her so fast that they blurred like the wings of a hummingbird.

He swallowed hard, momentarily taken aback and unable to stop himself from staring. But he knew he was intruding, barging in on a private moment. He was not entitled to any part of her--to her body, or her art. She was not performing for _him._ She was dancing wholly for herself. It was almost… _masturbatory._ And watching without her knowing seemed suddenly perverse.

She arched her body into a beautiful curve of flesh, and he looked away, heart hammering. Slipping silently back down the stairs, he gave her back her solitude.

Someday, he thought to himself, maybe she would choose to dance for him. But this quiet moment, today, was hers alone.


End file.
